


Rebel Without a Cause

by Kim J (notluvulongtime)



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Angst and Humor, F/M, Gen, Maquis!Chak, Post Caretaker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2013-03-12
Packaged: 2017-12-05 01:37:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notluvulongtime/pseuds/Kim%20J
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maquis Chakotay tries to find his place on Voyager and becomes invested in Janeway more than he ever imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rebel Without a Cause

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first upload on AO3. This fic exists on my Voyager-only fic site Kim J's PADD (and when I can figure out links here, I'll give it freely). Just testing out this place in case I try to write for different fandoms.
> 
> This was a 2009 Beta Reader Appreciation Day story for elem. 
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns all things Trek, but they can afford to let their hair down a little.

*

“I’d rather die than be Starfleet again.” 

B’Elanna Torres stood her ground, wearing a groove in the new carpet by pacing back and forth in front of the main console in the conference room. Everyone in Federation uniform sat while the Maquis preferred to stand, their burnished dignity – despite having lost everything - still intact.

At the head of the table, Kathryn was on the edge of her seat - trying not to let the lack of sleep over the past few days convey how tired and frustrated she truly was. Nevertheless, she tried to meet their leader’s eye to stare him down but instead found his stolid form facing the windows, gazing out and seemingly lost in consternation.

Before conflicting ideals and principles had been put forth – the hindsight argument regarding the merits of destroying the Caretaker’s array being paramount - Kathryn had promised herself that no one would leave the room until a decision had been made. She now regretted giving every member of her senior staff – what was left of it – and Chakotay’s crew an equal say. And that was because so far, all that she had to show for it was a forty-five minute stalemate.

This last statement on the part of an immovable half-Klingon truly summed up the position in the room.

Kathryn fought the impulse to throw up her hands and instead quirked a brow before swiveling her entire form to face him.

“You’ve been awfully quiet, Mr. Chakotay. If you have an opinion, I think we need to hear it.”

* * *

Spirits, he hated her efficiency. Yet he knew it was necessary. 

Chakotay barely had a moment to absorb what had happened, what he’d done, what he’d condemned his crew into doing for the next seventy some odd years. And now she wanted him to decide. Just like that.

He was looking out at the stars streaming by as though searching for what remained of the Val Jean, asking himself the what ifs –

“Captain, I share Miss Torres’s sentiment,” he turned his head only slightly to acknowledge her, “I sacrificed the only vessel in this quadrant representing the Maquis in order to save your ship and now you want to absorb my people into your crew, expecting us to welcome the idea with open arms and without giving anyone on my staff an equal position of power -”

He was referring to the preliminary negotiations with the Declan. The captain had appointed Tuvok her second in command after assuming his logic-based nature would mesh well with their emotionless culture.

“Then propose something else,” Kathryn replied in monotone, her poker-faced bargaining expression remaining unchanged.

He took a deep breath and turned around to face her.

Chakotay then moved until his palms made contact with the table; he leaned into her and noticed when she didn’t flinch, “The Maquis will remain the Maquis throughout this journey,” his voice was deathly low, “Even if it takes us seventy years to get home.”

A pregnant silence. Then -

“That’s a bone-headed idea.”

Everyone turned in the direction of the dirty blond-haired owner of that outburst. Still, the few warning looks – the most obvious one from Chakotay himself – did little to slow Paris down once he’d opened his mouth.

“Captain, if I know Chakotay – and I do – he wants First Officer. No self-respecting leader of the _Maquis_ would expect anything else.” 

Tom then turned to his rival, “But what exactly have you done to earn it? _I_ saved your life so that you could ram your ship – something you didn’t really have a choice but to do. If anything, _I_ should be first officer! And what is the Maquis in this sector, really?” 

Unlike Kathryn, Paris had no problem throwing up his arms, “Where are the Cardassians? C’mon, Chakotay. If you don’t meld your crew with ours, you’re nothing. 

“Nothing but a rebel without a cause.”

That last line was all it took. Within a microsecond, the Maquis leader covered the distance between them in two long strides, pulled back his right fist and slammed it into the other man’s jaw.

As chaos erupted, Kathryn blew out a heavy sigh, slowly rose from her seat and motioned for two bulky men in gold and black to separate the two.

As ever, a glance at her resident Vulcan’s raised eyebrow and stiff posture served to center her again.

“Well, Tuvok,” she exhaled in disappointment, “I guess we can rule out Mr. Chakotay as head of security.”

* * *

It was Kathryn’s turn to wear out the carpet. This time, it was in the brig.

She’d dropped the force field in the cell, reminding Chakotay of the grim reality – that there was really nowhere to go, to get away from this woman and her ship – and he watched ruefully through the one good eye that hadn’t swollen up from his altercation with Paris and kept his hands balled up into fists, the split knuckles smarting from when they’d come into contact with the conference room bulkhead.

He listened dispassionately as she lectured Tom before sending him to sick bay. 

She then dismissed the ensign guarding the door. Finally, they were alone. 

To both their displeasure and discomfort.

“Mr. Chakotay, I’m very grateful to have received your help during our first mission in the Delta Quadrant. I do hope you know that.”

He refused to meet her eye and merely grunted in reply.

“But Mr. Tuvok and I go back quite a ways and I need him for this alien trade negotiation. I ask you not to use that to encourage further dissent from your people.”

She studied him, but his steely expression never wavered. Kathryn’s lips thinned out into a line and she hardened her voice:

“I’d hoped that you’d see reason with my decision, but I now see that that’s not possible. So Mr. Chakotay, I sentence you to five days in airponics with Kes as your superior officer. Perhaps her natural gentility will rub off on you.”

He startled her by getting up abruptly and smoothing out the front of his pants roughly.

“Am I dismissed, Captain?”

She was centimeters away, but she had no problem looking him dead in the eye, “You are.”

He was halfway out the room when he heard her voice call out to him.

“I suggest you have your injuries looked at by our EMH –“

Without turning around, he answered in clipped tones, “No need, Captain. Fleeters don’t think twice about using up resources, but I’m still a Maquis to the core.”

* * *

He’d meant to wear his contusions and lacerations as a means to intimidate her crew – and so far it worked like a charm as he weaved and wended his way down the corridors – but it didn’t seem to have the desired affect on Voyager’s lone Ocampa.

“I have the most beautiful orchids. I saved the bulbs in my pocket when I escaped the first time and luckily, the bay’s humidity is perfect. They’re almost fully grown and will bloom any day now –“

Kes’s spritely enthusiasm failed to breach Chakotay’s melancholy; she wasn’t oblivious. Still, she persevered.

“You’ll love them. Trust me.”

“I’m sure I will, Kes. Just download your instructions on a PADD and I’ll get to work.”

She sighed – having given up any new attempts to cheer him up – walked over to the duranium table and entered the steps of caring for the orchids into the data device before handing it to him.

He knew she meant well, but the pity on her face was almost intolerable.

“Take good care of them, Mr. Chakotay. They’re the only thing of beauty I have left from home –“

“They’re in good hands, Kes. Why don’t you visit Neelix in the mess hall while I get started?”

Her face brightened then and she waved before leaving him to his much needed solitude.

* * *

When had he decided to roll over and play dead?

The thought had sprung to mind as he repotted one of the orchids in the loamy soil and bark mixture.

Chakotay went back into his memory and tried to rationalize the chain of events. He’d done it all to rescue B’Elanna – that alone made combining forces with Janeway worth it – but beyond that? Ramming the Val Jean into a Kazon ship to give Voyager time – for what? So that she could destroy the only chance of them getting home?

_She’s the captain._

What kind of inane reason was that? In the heat of battle with the Cardassians, Chakotay knew he’d come up with better. What was it about Captain Janeway that transformed him into a blithering idiot?

He was loath to admit it, but Paris was right. He could hear the unspoken words coming from the hated pilot’s mouth in his head.

_You followed her around like a lost puppy._

It was no wonder he’d been offered nothing.

Because really, what had he proven he was good at?

* * *

“Oh no!”

Chakotay had heard the bay’s doors swoosh open, was drying his hands on a towel and was about to turn around when he’d heard Kes’s horrified exclamation.

He whipped around to see her palms go up to her cheeks, her robin’s egg blue eyes wide. She was staring at the row of eight plants, their stems having transformed from blue to green in the time period she’d been gone.

Her look was so jarring that an uncharacteristic nervousness came over him, “I was going to comm you about the color change, but I assumed this was normal and –“ 

Suddenly – as though on cue – the leaves of all eight plants drooped, shriveled into dry brown carcasses from tip to stem and fell like dust on the duranium table.

“Nooooooooo!” she almost screamed, running to the countertop, her body wracked in agony.

As if things couldn’t get worse, the doors swooshed open again to admit the captain. She entered with a coffee cup and put it aside instantly before rushing to the young Ocampa’s side.

“Kes?! What happened?” she looked up and her soft shock hardened into admonishment as she spied Chakotay frozen by the basin, “What have you done to her?!”

Immediately, Kes stood up and wiped her tears, sniffled back her despair and forced a smile.

“No, Captain; it’s all right. Mr. Chakotay was helping me with my orchids and I forgot to tell him about the ratio of loam to bark and –“

She was covering up for him. Chakotay took one quick glance at the open PADD on the table next to him and realized he’d forgotten the three drops of rose concentrate. All of his self-absorbed mulling had run her written words together in his vision and he’d missed that crucial step.

“No, Kes, it’s my fault –“ his eyes conveyed genuine sadness and shame. He wanted to jettison himself out of an airlock for being so stupid.

Again.

“Please don’t blame yourself –“

“You said they were the only thing of beauty –“

She put up a hand and, Spirits, instantly put on the strongest façade he’d seen yet.

“It’s not important. What’s important is that Voyager is my new home. They’re just…things,” her eyes cleared as she took the captain’s hands in hers, “I have Neelix and I’m making wonderful friends. I’ve got holoimages of the flowers and I can replicate their perfume with what I’ve uploaded into the database. So please, it’s all right.”

“Kes, I feel terrible,” Chakotay swallowed the lump in his throat and licked his lips, the wheels in his brain turning, “Let me make it up to you. Have you ever had crimson silk cake with Bajoran cream cheese frosting?”

It was a stupid question - because of course she hadn’t - but he needed to fill the heavy air with his softened tone. He needed to make this right. Not just for both the women in the room, but for himself as well.

She smiled and despite the fullness in her stomach from Neelix’s lavish lunch, she shook her head, “No, but I’d like to.”

Chakotay held out his arm to Kes, trying hard to appear the gallant knight, and flashed a grim look at Kathryn to match her own gaze before leading the young Ocampa out.

As they walked through the open bay doors – Kes and Chakotay’s back to her - a corner of the captain’s mouth quirked up. 

Behind Kathryn’s back, she’d crossed her fingers.

* * *

From the sofa in the mess hall – sipping black coffee from her mug while going over engineering reports - Kathryn could hear Kes’s giggles of delight, Chakotay’s soft, joking tones, the comforting mixture of clanging pans and glopping sounds of wooden spoons hitting steel bowls and knew everything was finally, finally going to be okay.

Warm, sweet cloying smells of baking suffused the air and within minutes, she saw the Maquis leader – his vest removed, sleeves rolled up, a streak of red powder on his forehead – take out the pans with his gloved hands and put them in the instant cooling compartment. Kathryn smiled and observed how Kes surreptitiously stole a tiny finger scoop here and there from the Bajoran cream when Chakotay’s back was turned.

Suddenly someone furry and spotted entered her line of sight, mere centimeters in front of her face, and she recoiled.

“Sorry, Captain,” A psychedelically-clad Neelix - floppy chef’s hat and all - jammed her over into the farthermost corner of the couch with his body, too preoccupied with his own thoughts to notice that the abrupt movement sent a few PADDs cascading to the floor and almost jostled the hot liquid out of her cup.

“But you have to do something about Mr. Chakotay.”

“Neelix, it’s just temporary. And I’ll make sure he puts everything back in its place –“

“I don’t care about my kitchen! It’s _him_ ,” If a Talaxian could growl, she’d just heard it.

“Mr. Neelix –“

“Look, with all due respect to what you’re trying to do, Captain, I know my Kessy. I can tell when she really, really, REALLY likes someone. And I did not join Voyager to have her taken away from me by some…some…renegade…dark-haired…dark-skinned…tattooed…BOYTOY!”

Oh my.

“Mr. Neelix!” If a captain could hiss, he’d just heard it.

Regardless – 

“If you don’t do something about it, I will take back my promise to be your guide through this area of space. Kes and I will promptly leave on my ship and bid you good day!”

At that, the enraged Talaxian sprung up from the couch so quickly, it made the cushion bounce back. This time, Kathryn’s coffee _did_ spill onto her lap. Luckily, it was only slightly hot.

Still, she winced.

“Mr. Chakotay –“

Suddenly, her badge chirped. Good God, what now?

*Carey to Captain Janeway*

“This is Janeway.”

*I request your intervention. Miss Torres and I have a difference of opinion*

Despite the controlled formality of his words, Joe sounded as though he was barely holding it in. Kathryn knew she had seconds to spare before the day’s second brawl broke out.

“On my way,” she sighed. But after closing the connection, she looked up and her brain sparked a genius idea, “Mr. Chakotay?”

He was wiping his hands again and Kathryn couldn’t help but smile. There was a bit of frosting on his chin but he hadn’t seemed to notice it yet.

She walked over, reached out with a finger and snatched the cream up the same way Kes had done previously and tasted it. In a microsecond, her heart flipped at the twinkle behind his eyes, the deepening indentations that came with his smile.

But for now, she would ignore it.

“Pretty good. I think your work here is done. How’d you like to help me in engineering?”

* * *

Chakotay’s head was spinning. Something, something done somewhere and somehow was in need of solving. All he could make out was that B’Elanna and her Fleeter counterpart differed.

“Captain,” Joe Carey began, “I tried to explain to Miss Torres that maneuvering the subspace analyzer 0.05 microns would rapidly expand the fluctuations in the gravimetric array and dampen hexi-syncro inertial signals which would of course disrupt the thermo chemical reactions in the plasma conduits!”

“Of course. Miss Torres, what is your counter solution?” 

Kathryn’s expression never changed beyond that placid exterior and as he felt the backs of his eyes throb, he marveled at her calm, cerulean orbs in contrast to his.

B’Elanna took a deep breath.

“What _Mister_ Carey seems to have overlooked is that by operating the port nacelle collectors and articulating the tetracyanate crystals in a nucleonic phase coupling, the circuitry would activate the auxiliary omega pulse spatial actuators to compensate!”

“Naturally,” Kathryn folded her arms and before Lieutenant Carey could protest once more, she took both competing PADDs of data and brought them over, “What do you think, Mr. Chakotay? Can we meld these two ideas?”

A pointed choice of words. He devoted another second staring at her before taking the data and scrolling down, giving each calculation a measured look.

Chakotay’s quadrimetric calculus was a little rusty, but he noticed that both B’Elanna and Joe’s equations differed by one coefficient. He decided to split the difference – something that always seemed to work on the Val Jean when she and Seska had a dispute.

“Captain, I think both of these calculations have merit. So if I…”

Chakotay went over to the console nearest the warp core and began punching in the pertinent data, utilizing both coefficient corrections.

Suddenly, red alert klaxons went off.

*Warning. Warp core breach in twenty seconds*

“Chakotay! What have you done?!” B’Elanna shouted and pushed him aside.

He was nearly knocked over by Carey, who joined her on her right. Both began tapping in various commands – using the gobbledygook that froze the Maquis leader’s brain as much as orchid care apparently had. The sounds of people running about and yelling commands filled the air. From what he could tell, Chakotay had caused some kind of fatal error in the computer system, initiating a cascade failure – 

Suddenly, Janeway came up to B’Elanna’s left and made a series of overrides with both hands that resembled some kind of Beethoven sonatina. The klaxons shut off almost in an instant.

*Warp core is stable*

“Wonderful,” the captain breathed, not a pip out of place, “Computer, stand down red alert.”

The engineering room was soon bathed again in the usual indigo lighting.

B’Elanna’s hair was in disarray as she and Carey grabbed both of their PADDs and began scrolling down as they backtracked Chakotay’s work.

“I can’t believe it,” she snorted and shook her head. Suddenly, she bolted upright and snatched Joe’s data device from him, “Carey, what if I do this – “ she entered in one of his corrections into her PADD before handing his back – 

“You’re right!” Joe exclaimed, “And I saw that you had this –“ he almost bumped heads as he scrolled down her data device for the pertinent information, “Which I can use here,” He finished up with a tap and a grin as he handed his PADD to her.

B’Elanna looked from data device to data device and ended up with a smile on her face, “Captain, I think we’ve done it!”

Kathryn exhaled and rolled her eyes, “I knew you could. Back to work, everyone, and thank you to all!”

Before turning around, she grabbed a dazed Chakotay by the arm, “Don’t touch anything until I get you out of here –“

As he followed her out, he snapped out of it long enough to wryly comment, “Where to next, Captain? Want me to ‘help’ in sick bay?”

“Dear God, no,” she intoned, “With your luck, you’ll knock over a virus culture and wipe out both our crew.”

* * *

It wasn’t bad luck. It was a bad fit. He would forever be out of his element on this ship. As long as he had a command of some kind, his tactical skills would be of use.

But Voyager wasn’t his. It was hers. And she didn’t trust him yet. Considering the damage he’d done that day, it was no wonder.

After the debacle in engineering, Chakotay exiled himself to his quarters on deck four without so much of a peep of protest from Janeway. It was for the best. After nearly causing the ship’s destruction and humiliating himself in front of a good portion of both the Maquis and Starfleet, all the man wanted to do was hide.

After wearing a groove into the carpet, Chakotay stopped pacing and decided one of two things. He could start at the bottom of the heap and work his way back up - pride be damned. Or if Janeway deemed him too much of a liability, he could choose a Class-M planet to be left on to live out his days.

This was how depressed he was, how low he’d sunk. It had taken his entire life to get where he’d been before the Caretaker whisked them 70,000 light years from home. And it had taken him only three days to reduce him to the equivalent of Starfleet crewman status.

“Computer,” he muttered, “Where is Captain Janeway?”

*Captain Janeway is in her quarters*

Chakotay glanced at the chronometer. It was past the end of beta shift. He figured he had only an hour or two before she turned in for the night.

* * *

He found himself in front of the empty residence next to hers on deck three.

Chakotay knew that Tuvok preferred the port side of any ship and hadn’t moved into the first officer’s quarters next to Janeway yet. He fingered the keypad next to the door to stall for time.

What would he open the conversation with? Shaking his head, Chakotay decided to play it by ear. There really wasn’t any pride left worth saving anyway.

He stepped in front of her entranceway and was surprised when the doors slid open to reveal her sitting on the couch with a book, clad in peach satin pajamas and weaving three thick locks of hair into one long, loosely braided plait swept over the right shoulder.

“Mr. Chakotay!” she gazed up at him and grinned, “What can I do for you?”

He forgot to stammer out an apology for disturbing her because he’d stop to notice the light bouncing off the apples of her cheeks. She had no make up on and her skin glowed as though it was freshly scrubbed and shiny with a thin layer of cream.

He’d never expected to see her so…unadorned…and it took him off-guard.

“I-Is this a bad time?”

“Hardly,” she chuckled, slid her calves off the couch and strolled to the replicator in bare feet – the soft swishy sounds of satin following her wherever she went, “In fact, it’s the best time. Off duty seems to be the only place I can speak in more than a few clipped sentences.”

She eyed him and for the first time, Chakotay looked down, noticed the stain on his cuff from the cake batter that afternoon and realized he hadn’t changed out of his clothes and into something fresh and as sweet-smelling as she was in that very moment -

_Dammit, man, focus!_

“Would you like some coffee? Wait – no.” She brought a finger up to the side of her nose, “You’re an herbal tea kind of person, aren’t you?”

“You’re a captain and a psychic?” he tried lamely.

“No,” She keyed in a few commands and the mug materialized. Kathryn placed it in his hands as he stood there, rooted to the spot. She tapped her temple, “I have a good memory – something you don’t have right at this moment or you’d remember you told me that the day we met.”

Chakotay let out a long, deep sigh and sat down on the wing chair opposite the couch before taking a deep draught from his mug. He hunched over his open legs and gazed into the dark cup’s abyss.

“O for infinity,” he muttered under his breath.

“What was that?” her brow furrowed as she settled back into the couch cushions.

He looked up and smiled half-heartedly, “I’m admitting that I’m one big fail today, Captain. That’s all.”

She offered him a gentle smile in return. He expected to see pity or even…triumph. But there was something else there.

Understanding.

“That was me when I destroyed the array. Arguably, of course,” she added. “Depends on who you ask. So it was your turn, Mr. Chakotay,” she teased.

Still, he caught a glimmer of regret.

Suddenly, the door chimed.

“Come in.”

Chakotay turned to see Tuvok standing in the entranceway, a large rectangular box in his arms.

“I apologize for disturbing you, Captain, but the Declan have delivered your garments.”

“Thank you, Tuvok. Can you put them on my desk?”

The Vulcan did so with a nod, briefly acknowledged Chakotay in his enigmatic way and left just as quickly as he’d arrived.

“ ‘Garments’?”

She waved her hand dismissively as she picked up her mug from the coffee table, “It’s a long story.”

“We have seventy years, so I’m all ears.”

“So is Tuvok.”

He didn’t laugh on cue. Chakotay knew Janeway meant it as a joke, but the fact that she’d chosen the resident Vulcan over him was still in the forefront of his mind.

She looked nervous for a second – as though she’d forgotten where she was and who she was speaking to – before sitting up straighter and adopting the familiar husky tones he was getting used to.

“In a nutshell, it’s my wedding dress. The leader of the Declan won’t give us permission to go through their airspace unless I marry him.”

Chakotay’s expression was incredulous, “You’re not really going to go through with it –“

“I have no choice,” she threw up her hands, finally losing a bit of her composure. “We don’t have enough power to go around – that’s what Carey and Torres were trying to accomplish today. We can reroute enough to get to the other side where Neelix knows of a pergium mining colony. But we don’t have much more time. Long range sensors show a Kazon sect will reach us in a matter of days.” 

She got up and retrieved the box from her desk, “I have to try it on for the wedding tomorrow.”

She then walked to her room and slid the door halfway, calling out, “Can you hear me?”

“Yes!”

“Okay. Well, as you already know, the Declan are a species that abhor emotion of any kind. It’s not enough that they don’t show it – they’re not even allowed to feel it. No amount of direct or indirect persuasion – logical or illogical - moves or even provokes them. So of course, Tuvok and I haven’t been able to dissuade them from this ritual union…”

She paused for a moment and Chakotay could hear the rustling of fabric and fasteners.

“Is the marriage symbolic? Is the entire crew expected to stay behind temporarily for some kind of honeymoon period?”

His back was to her bedroom door and he heard the pattering of feet before feeling a light tap on his shoulder.

When he looked up, Chakotay was glad to have been seated the entire time for he surely would have swayed to one side and toppled over a vase or a sculpture with the weight of how beautiful she looked.

The captain had never appeared more…uncaptainly. But in a very, very good way.

The formfitting dress was in some silken, almost translucent material in a soft grayish-lavender hue. The long sleeves were entirely transparent and gauzy, showing off the light musculature of her upper arms, her swan-like shoulders and neck. And when she turned around, Chakotay saw that the dress was backless and his eyes welcomed a flawless, unblemished expanse of creamy porcelain skin.

But Spirits, the way it all framed her face, the slightly, but charmingly frizzy halo of hair, tendrils from the plait spilling forth along her neckline, her temples.

He couldn’t breathe. And for a moment, Chakotay was jealous. And in the next moment?

“No, Mr. Chakotay. It’s real and binding. And the only person who must stay behind is…me. 

“Permanently.”

* * *

He couldn’t sleep. The same circular thinking overwhelmed his thoughts.

She was sacrificing herself for all of them. And the only people who knew were Tuvok and himself. The crew would only be told after the fact.

She’d spent the next few minutes in her quarters informing him that Tuvok would be promoted to Captain and that he would get the First Officer position after all. Still, Chakotay balked at the idea. Bile had risen in his throat at the thought.

Oh, the irony.

He flung the bed sheets aside and sat at the desk, tapping away at the computer console to find everything he could on the Declan. Chakotay only stopped to ask the replicator for more tea as he absorbed the history of the alien species and tried to find a weakness, a chink in their proverbial armor.

It all came down to emotion. The only time the Declan lost in battle or retreated was when they’d succumbed to it. But the odds were stacked against him. There were only four incidences in their five thousand year history whereby the species had shown their soft underbelly. And there was no pattern to it, no way for a combatant to repeat a strategy. The Declan were like the Borg; they adapted. Evolution was their forte.

So all Chakotay was left with was a sinking level of despair. His nerves were rubbed raw and his synapses no longer fired with anything remarkable or notable so he took a break from the brainstorming to examine the feelings he had for…her.

He hesitated to call her ‘Janeway’ in his mind and he wondered why. ‘Captain’ was also something that seemed…out of place. He hadn’t known her long enough to call her by her first name, however.

Yet he found himself wanting to. It was a yearning that caught him off-balance. It had been a long time since his entire universe had come up to question and two events in so many days – the Caretaker and now her – was almost too much for his overtired mien to bear.

So instead, he thought back to the way she looked in that lavender dress. There was something familiar about it, something beckoning to him from millennia past. He saw her in a medium of oil and canvas, Titian red lips and –

_That’s it!_

Chakotay entered the name that sprung to mind from his memory banks and as his eyes scanned the resulting screen, he learned exactly how he could beat the Declan and how to keep…her…on Voyager.

* * *

It was the beginning of alpha shift and ‘alien time’ was bright and early.

Apparently.

Perfectly coiffed, Kathryn stood in her wedding dress on the bridge, trying to avoid the stares of the crew – from the corridors to where she stood now – and waited as though for a 19th century hanging.

Tuvok stood grimly to her left – always port side – as they prepared to hail the oncoming ship that held her bridegroom at the ready.

Suddenly, the turbo lift doors opened. Kathryn turned at the sound of the swoosh and was nearly knocked over with the shock.

Mr. Chakotay was in full Starfleet uniform.

The Red and the Black.

The polished boots and ramrod posture.

The only thing glaringly missing was… the pips.

Kathryn’s wide eyes hardened as she realized he was just there for the handoff of command after she’d been beamed onto the Declan ship.

“You’re jumping the phaser, aren’t you, Mr. Chakotay?” she quirked a brow to hide the sinking of her heart.

He stepped down to meet her on the same level – starboard side – and handed her a data chip.

“What’s this?”

Suddenly, the view screen erupted in sound and vision. The Declan leader had five heads and twice as many arms. His roving eyes finally settled on Kathryn because of the hue of her gown; it was the sole reason she had to wear it – just so that he could find her amidst the sea of otherwise bright and emotion-inducing color.

“Good morning, Captain Janeway, my bride,” the universal translator issued forth but couldn’t disguise the creepy sibilance of the alien’s voice.

“Good morning…” Kathryn tried to tamp down her panic at his abrupt appearance and wracked her brain for his moniker, “…Pootie Deckleblurt.”

Luckily for the captain, the bridge crew had been briefed on the…peculiar...names of the Declan’s highest ranking officials before sipping their caffeinated beverages that morning. Everyone regarded the captain’s greeting with nothing more than a straight face – as protocol (upon pain of lost credits) dictated.

“Admiral Deckleblurt,” Chakotay took a step forward, ignoring her glare, “I have a data chip with Captain Janeway’s requests regarding your wedding.”

Whatever head was dominant, the alien nodded with it, “Proceed with the upload.”

Kathryn pulled Chakotay aside and whispered harshly into his ear, “What do you think you’re doing?!”

He found it difficult to ignore just how much she moved him in that dress, so he shoved it aside – knowing he’d need it for later, “Trust me, Captain, and play along. Just one last time.”

There was an intensity in his gaze and an urgency to his tone that would normally rile up the captain in Kathryn. But instead, it centered her. She nodded and moved aside to give him space.

“Admiral, my….Mr. Chakotay is my…wedding planner,” Kathryn eyed him sideways for a prompt but got nothing, “so I give him the floor.”

Chakotay settled into parade stance and narrowed his eyes. He forgot that he was staring into a many-headed, many-armed alien and imagined a more humanoid species.

Someone from the past. The very, very…recent past. Someone with dirty blond hair, in fact.

And without fail, his demeanor hardened.

“Admiral Deckleblurt –“

“Please, Mr. Chakotay; call me Pootie.”

The Maquis leader cleared his throat and struggled to stay serious – so close, yet so far, “All right, Mister…Pootie. Before you marry Captain Janeway, I thought it wise that you learn a little bit about her ancestors.”

Chakotay paused, took the silence for assent, and rooted himself to the spot – hoping he’d remembered everything.

“One of the great queens of our history is Helen of Troy.”

Kathryn whipped her head around and - for the first time - she looked confused.

And it emboldened him as he stared back at her.

“Helen, a Greek princess, was famous for being the most beautiful woman on Earth – so much so that a goddess promised her to a man even though she was already married. Still, that man – his name was Paris – ignored warnings from both immortals and mortals and sailed to her homeland in order to kidnap her for himself.

“For ten long years, the Greeks and the Trojans fought over Helen. Gods took sides to no avail. Many heroes fell. Eventually Paris died in battle – sparked by revenge in killing the Greek hero Achilles. Afterwards, the Greeks broke camp, boarded their ships and sailed away. They left a large wooden horse on the shore. The Trojans thought they had finally routed the Greeks and in triumph, they pulled the horse into their city as a trophy. But the horse was hollow and filled with Greek warriors. In the dark of night, they crept out and opened wide the city gates. The rest of them had not left; in fact, they’d been hiding behind an island. Now they came pouring into the city.

“Proud Troy was destroyed. Helen was brought back and of the royal house of Troy, no one but three descendents of a goddess remained.”

Chakotay stopped. Deckleblurt and his minions listened, rapt - their multiple lips quivering in anticipation and…fear.

During his recounting of the story, he’d focused entirely on the captain beside him. Her confusion had transformed from curiosity into wonder, understanding, pride and now? He couldn’t read her anymore.

“Admiral,” Chakotay finished, “Captain Janeway is Voyager’s Helen of Troy. The download I’ve initiated has nothing to do with the wedding. It is a compilation of every piece of human literature for the last two thousand years. I know that this transmission is automatically linked to data systems on your planet. Right now, every citizen of Declan is privy to these stories and every citizen will not help but be overloaded with emotion. 

“If you do not want this to happen, I suggest you relinquish Captain Janeway of her obligation and allow us to pass through your airspace –“

“YES!” The alien nearly shorted out the transmission with the vehemence of his answer, “Cease all transfer of data! We will let you pass! We will! As Pootie Deckleblurt is my name, I will make it so!”

The view screen cleared to admit the usual star field.

“Captain,” Harry called out from his station, “The Declan have just given us the coordinates for a shortcut through their system. They’re asking Mr. Chakotay to stand down.”

She smiled at him and he could see her eyes glisten, “Well?”

His eyes didn’t deviate from hers, “ ‘Chakotay omega pi epsilon’ will stop the transfer and initiate a viral cascade that will infect all copies planet side.”

“You heard our first officer, Mr. Kim.”

She’d said it as though she’d been waiting to say it for days. A hush fell over the bridge. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

* * *

He’d replicated a few things to make up for what he’d lost from the Val Jean, but it didn’t matter.

Chakotay was home because she was here.

His cause was here.

The door chimed.

“Come in.”

She entered – back in her Starfleet uniform and perfect chignon, not one tendril out of place – but it didn’t matter. She could be whatever she wanted to be – in company or in private. The moment they’d shared the night before he thought he’d lost her forever had shown him her true self. And if he never saw it again, he’d still be happy.

Because they knew each other. That was enough to know that they could work together as a team. Side by side. No one more than the other.

Equals.

“I have something for you,” she brought her hand up from behind her back and spread open her palm to reveal a rank bar instead of the requisite three pips.

“I know you’ll always be Maquis, so I scoured the database, found the pertinent insignias and designed something that I hope respects where you and your people come from – intellectually, spiritually and… emotionally - regardless of where we are in the galaxy.”

Chakotay visibly relaxed, signaling his approval as she pinned the bar to his grey collar.

“Now,” she smoothed his shoulders and plucked a piece of stray lint, “The question remains. I intend to give Tom Paris the rank of lieutenant in order to pilot Voyager –“

“So then what’s the question?”

“ _When_ should I do it?”

Chakotay smiled. He was going to enjoy this long, crazy trip.

“Let him sweat it out for another day,” he crooked his arm and she linked hers in his the way Kes had.

As the doors to his abode slid open, he escorted her across the threshold – taking only a short stroll before ending up at her entranceway next door.

“What shall we have for dinner, Kathryn?”

Her doors swooshed open and they walked inside.

“I don’t care,” she laughed huskily, “As long as I get crimson silk cake for dessert.”

 

FIN


End file.
